


Galactic

by Ragingstillness



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Autistic!Asgard, Autistic!Bruce, Autistic!Thor, Cute, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, M/M, Post TR AU, Queer used as a positive identifier, Stimming, Valkyrie is a tough chick, all the stimming, because their societal structure looks like that to us, if you disagree with my headcanon hit me up with a message and I'll give you my works cited evidence, just so much, like all of asgard would appear autistic from an earth perspective, tw: anxiety attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 19:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16001639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragingstillness/pseuds/Ragingstillness
Summary: In a post-Thor: Ragnarok universe where Hela was sealed away in Helheim permanently and Asgard wasn't destroyed Bruce and Thor try to navigate the rebuilding process as well as their own feelings.





	Galactic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ancalime1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ancalime1/gifts).



_Thud, Thud, Thud, Thud, Thud, pause, squeak, Thud, Thud, Thud_ on the ceiling above Bruce’s bed. The weight of the boots meant Asgardian rather than any other species, the precision said warrior, and the loud squeak said Thor. No other man Bruce had ever met delighted as much in small noises as in loud bangs.

Bruce’s room in the renovated Asgardian palace was situated underground, near the catacombs. He didn’t mind it. Thor had looked so apologetic when he’d asked Bruce if he would take it but really, Bruce was relieved. Far from making him claustrophobic, the idea of the solid rock enclosing his little sanctuary was comforting. It muted most noise that wasn’t in the rooms directly adjacent to his and it was mostly decorated in muted blues and reds with the ever-present golden accents. The walls were roughhewn and clearly rock but they weren’t sharp. Instead they had been specifically scraped to give them a repetitive up and down texture with little rounded points Bruce could run his fingers over. It was surprisingly soothing to lay in his bed at night and combat the insomnia by tracing the markings over and over with his fingertips.

The blankets helped as well. Thor had casually mentioned the underground could be a little cold, then a horrified look came over his face and he ran from the room. Bruce almost suspected an attack when Thor came bowling back into the room, carrying a stack of blankets so large Bruce could only see the tip top of Thor’s shaven head.

Thor had dropped the blankets on the end of Bruce’s bed then proceeded to grasp the top one, a yellow fluffy piece that looked almost like fur, and wrap it tight around Bruce’s entire body. It brought Thor’s muscles alarmingly close to Bruce, who tried to suppress his natural instincts in the face of propriety but still couldn’t quite resist taking in the comforting scent of his… _something?_

He and Thor had just completed a series of battles and adventures on a grand scale and Bruce could tell they had gotten closer. Much closer than they had even been when they first met. Bruce could barely even remember exchanging a word or two with Thor during that first mission, rocketing through New York to stop Loki.

Having actually spent a decent amount of time with Thor’s pseudo-brother, Bruce had all but forgiven Loki for New York. His personality was nothing like the arrogant prince he portrayed himself to be and while Loki still refused to talk about the event itself or the surrounding time, Bruce was thoroughly convinced that the man he knew would never have done what he did to New York. Either way, Bruce would definitely count himself and Thor as friends if not anything more.

For a man who put out the aura of living for simple emotions, Thor was surprisingly hard to read when he wanted to hide. Bruce couldn’t see anything other than normal happy emotions in Thor’s facial expressions, so he had to rely on touches. And they touched an awful lot, or rather, Thor touched him.

Bruce had spent so long fearing even a simple scare would unleash his less savory side that he was accustomed to turning his body this way and that, making himself small so as not to brush up against anyone he met. Thor, on the other hand, was remarkably tactile. Bruce hadn’t had enough time to notice it much during their first meeting and had only registered it in the back of his mind during their grand adventures. It was now, in the aftermath of their battle with Hela, forcing her through a mix of physical prowess and disturbingly powerful and definitely forbidden magic on Loki’s part, back into her own realm of Helheim, that Bruce noticed. The enchantment was tethered to the lingering spirit of Thor’s hammer, returning the weapon to its previous owner, even though he didn’t really need it anymore.

After the battle Thor had greeted his warrior friends with tight hugs and lots of backslapping. Small children he had befriended got sloppy cheek kisses and to fly like little birds over Thor’s head as he held them up and ran around. Civilian friends were swept off their feet and spun, laughing.

Valkyrie got a hearty handshake and then a sort of bow thing Bruce suspected was specific to the Valkyrie warriors as Thor’s eye had gotten suspiciously watery when Valkyrie had done it towards him.

The touchiest Thor ever was, aside from with Bruce, was with his brother. They had some sort of strange greeting, grounding, thing they both did in moments of stress, wrapping their hands around the backs of each other’s necks and tapping their foreheads together. After asking Thor’s Asgardian friends, Bruce learned that it was a very intimate greeting, meant to be reserved for close family and romantic partners. For all of his protestations to the contrary, Loki must consider himself Thor’s brother somewhere inside him as he still leaned into the contact whenever he and Thor interacted, closing his eyes as if to steady himself.

Thor didn’t greet Bruce the same way but he more than made up for it with other touches. Hands on Bruce’s shoulders, a head in his lap at the end of a long day, tight hugs that put just the right amount of pressure on Bruce’s body for him to feel held rather than smothered.

The part of Bruce that calmed with pressure purred at these moments of contact because, to Bruce’s delight, everything about Thor was heavy. He rarely took his armor off, even near the end of the day, and Asgardians must be somehow denser than humans because every touch felt like a weight was being placed on whatever part of Bruce’s body it impacted.

For the same reason Bruce was grateful for the blankets. They were thin enough that he didn’t sweat through them and he could pile as many of them onto his body as he liked when he wanted that comforting feeling.

For all of the physical contact that Asgardians seemed to spread around freely, Thor’s touches to Bruce always felt deliberate. Like he wanted Bruce to know he was being touched. The fearful voice of the past screamed each time, warning Bruce that one day he’d snap and “smash” Thor. But, history helpfully reminded him, he had smashed Thor, and Loki too, and they had both been fine. It was gratifying in a way Bruce couldn’t fully express to not fear his own strength. Asgardians were sturdy, they couldn’t break.

Bruce had long ago accepted his inevitable gravitation towards Asgard’s brilliant king. He was kind, and gentle, and good with children, and caring, and intelligent in a way that knocked Bruce’s socks off (if he had socks to knock off at the time), and most of all, he was open to learning.

Loki informed Bruce during one of Asgard’s many celebration feasts that this was a quality Thor had long lacked, until his visit to Earth. Something Thor found there, Bruce suspected it was Jane, had opened up a well of humility in Thor that allowed him to absorb critiques with a smile, incorporating them into his actions and accepting that he still had more to improve on.

Bruce, tired and perhaps a tad tipsy at the time, had made the mark that the biggest room in the world was the room for improvement. Loki’s expression hadn’t changed a jot, but he’d rapidly excused himself and Bruce could swear he heard side-splitting laughter echoing down the hall following him.

Before his accident, Bruce had just been coming to terms with his bisexuality and deciding what kind of men he liked. At the time that had been someone funny, sweet, and scientifically intelligent. After Hulk came into the picture, Bruce’s qualifiers had changed to: anyone he wouldn’t hurt. And as that didn’t include any normal human on Earth, he’d resigned himself to losing romance from his life.

Thinking of romance in this context brought a whole different set of questions to the table. What did Asgardian courting even look like? Did they even use the term courting anymore or was Bruce extrapolating from the old way Thor used to speak, which Bruce now knew Thor did simply to confuse Tony and Steve. Were men allowed to be with other men?

He’d asked this last one of Loki, leading to a painfully awkward explanation of why exactly he thought Loki would know the answer, trying desperately to avoid coming out with, “I don’t know man, you just give off a gay vibe.”

Loki had smirked at his upset, although Loki smirked at everything, then proceeded to explain that Bruce’s guess had been spot on and that Loki was likely the queerest person on Asgard and that yes, men were allowed to lie with men. Asgard was strangely backwards in that way; no homophobia but a decent amount of sexism and racism.

Of course, Bruce had to pay for asking Loki this, which meant Loki would now waggle his eyebrows suggestively at Bruce whenever he was talking to Thor. It made Bruce flush something awful and had led Thor to ask once if he was sick.

The rebuilding process was moving slowly. Bruce had decades of dealing with his anxiety under his belt, and a solid grasp on what calmed his autistic brain, but the strain of the recent weeks had been getting to Thor. Bruce could see it in the tightness of Thor’s already bulging shoulders, the bags under his single eye. Bruce wanted to help but feared he’d be rebuffed with a casual excuse and not trusted with Thor’s true feelings.

That rejection had been Bruce’s biggest fear when it came to suggesting rest to Tony and yet by not speaking up Bruce feared he had allowed the paranoia to sink its claws deeper into Tony’s skull and led to Ultron’s creation.

Bruce was still afraid to approach Thor, but he compromised by spending time categorizing what seemed to bother Thor the most.

Sometimes something new would come up outside the palace and Thor would have to wake up and ride out early. He tended to throw on whatever clothing was at hand during that time, often resulting in mismatch.

Bruce had noted how dismayed those days seemed to make Thor. He would tug at his clothing, throw his head back a bit more like he was trying to inject confidence into himself. At first Bruce thought Thor was just annoyed at the lack of sleep, but a gaudy party the Saakarian fighters had thrown one night at the palace opened Bruce’s eyes to a new suspicion.

It had all the characteristics of a Saakarian party: flashing lights and extravagant outfits. Thor had to attend, as a representative of his planet, as had Loki and a few other Asgardians. The entire group had looked vaguely uncomfortable the entire time. Loki, who had taken to Saakar with gusto, chose not to dress up in his outfit from the planet, instead wearing a muted green and black combination.

Thor had slumped into himself as the party progressed and once he even closed his eye to the lights. Loki, seated next to Thor at the time, had glanced around to make sure none of the Saakarians were looking, then slipped a hand under Thor’s arm and pressed it hard against his brother’s chest. It seemed to help, and Thor shot grateful glance at his brother after he’d managed to open his eye again.

Bruce considered the evidence. He wasn’t ready to foist an entire neurological diagnosis on someone he’d only just begun to get to know, but it looked to him like Thor might have a measure of visual sensitivity. It made sense. Asgardian constructions and outfits tended to incorporate never more than three colors at a time and the vast majority of everything was simply gold. The culture shock could just be getting to Thor, but Bruce suspected more. Also, pressure seemed to calm Thor down. Something in Bruce lit up at that little similarity; it was a small way he could feel slightly closer to the man he so admired and cared for.  

But even without exacerbating circumstances, Thor was slowly wearing down and Bruce was sure he wasn’t the only one who could see it. Valkyrie had put it the bluntest.

Thor had stumbled into the large dining hall, looking like he’d fixed four buildings before breakfastime. He almost slipped off the bench he sat down so hard. Loki raised an eyebrow then went to buttering his bread, but Valkyrie snorted and braced her feet up on the table. “You look like shit, Sparkles.”

Bruce had cringed, but Thor only gave her a tired smile. “Your words are all too accurate, sister-in-arms.”

Bruce took in Thor’s sweaty appearance and gestured to the intricate buckles that attached his armor to his body. “You might be more comfortable if you took some of that off.”

Bruce himself was tired from an all-nighter and it took a couple of minutes to register how Valkyrie gaped at him and Thor looked slightly panicked by the idea. The situation passed without further comment but it solidified Bruce’s theory that Thor enjoyed a level of heavy pressure to keep himself grounded and in the moment.

If Thor had even a second of free time, Bruce would have taught him a couple of meditation techniques, simple guided visualization to help him sleep, or the proper signs of an anxiety attack. But Thor was constantly on the move, fixing something, comforting someone, attending a funeral. Bruce worried for him, but he was pretty swamped under work as well.

His expertise in the medical sciences was implored binding injuries and dealing with infections every day. Not to mention the dichotomy of competition and cooperation that existed between him and the Asgardian healers. They were insistent on believing their magic was superior to Midgardian medicine, but they couldn’t deny that it took less energy to bind a wound with cloth than close it and replace everything that had been scraped away by magic.

Bruce had recently reached out to them in ways to combine medicine with magic. Their experimental forays were just that, experimental, but they were making a bit of progress.

It had been about three months since they had sealed Hela away for good. And Bruce was hearing Thor pace the floor in the room above him for the fifteenth time. Bruce hypothesized that Thor walked instead of sleeping. The rhythm was so solid that Bruce would fall asleep to it some nights then wake up to it in the morning.

He assumed Thor walked because he felt useless if he wasn’t doing something, like he didn’t deserve sleep when he could be taking care of his people. Bruce was intimately familiar with the feeling.

He’d done hours and hours of clean up from New York and if he hadn’t blasted through the stratosphere, he would have stayed behind to deal with Sokovia as well.

_Thud, Thud, Thud, pause, squeak, Thud, Thud, Thud, Crash._

Bruce sat up. He could hear soft Asgardian curses coming up from the room above him and immediately made the decision to go check on Thor. The doctor in him wanted to make sure Thor wasn’t injured, and the friend, or _something,_ was just worried about Thor.

Bruce knocked on Thor’s door. The response was upright and kingly, and nothing like how he knew Thor was actually feeling. “Who is it?”

“Me, I mean, Bruce.”

“Bruce! Come in, the door’s unbarred.” Bruce hoped he wasn’t imagining how a brief flicker of joy was injected into Thor’s voice.

Bruce opened the door cautiously, expecting to see shrapnel of some kind but while the coffee table listed to the side on one broken leg and the glass atop it was shattered, the floor was mostly clear. Thor himself was sitting next to the couch, on the floor, still wearing his cape and all of his armor. His legs were crossed like a kindergartener and he waved at Bruce with his left hand.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. He took a step further into the room. “Hey Thor. Did you trip on the coffee table?”

“I did. I apologize if the noise woke you. Your work with the healers must rob you of enough rest already.” _You’re one to talk._ Bruce thought.

Thor’s smile was just a little too large for Bruce’s liking and the amount of damage Bruce thought he had heard.

Bruce took a step closer. “Let me help you up.” He reached out both of his hands to Thor. And, just as predicted, Thor only took Bruce’s hand with his left.

Bruce let the façade drop. “Thor…” Thor widened his eye and gave Bruce a charming head tilt. If Bruce didn’t know him so well he’d be taken in by that pretty face. “How badly did you injure your other hand?”

Thor’s shoulders slumped again. “Not badly.” He scuffed a boot against the floor and used his left hand to tug on his armor. “Not enough that it requires a healer’s attention. It will heal quickly on its own. You know,” he gestured to his chest. “Asgardian.”

Bruce stepped right up into Thor’s personal space and grabbed for the arm behind his back. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe the pain, but Thor faltered in his response and Bruce was able to pull the arm out towards him.

Bruce winced. Thor had clearly tripped over the side of the coffee table and reached his hand out to catch himself, slicing it on the glass. His fist must have been clenched as there were cuts and developing bruises across his knuckles.

Bruce pointed at the couch and looked Thor right in the eye. “Sit.”

Thor sat, cradling his injured hand in his lap. Bruce strode to a side table he knew carried a medical kit for serious injuries. He had stowed it there, after Thor had shrugged off the healers one too many times.

Bruce sat on the other end of the couch and settled the box in his lap, reaching for Thor’s hand. He took it gingerly, setting his hand flat under Thor’s palm. He flattened his own palm slowly, but a hiss of pain still escaped through Thor’s teeth.

Bruce pulled out a cotton ball and dipped it in antiseptic. He dabbed it across the cuts, wiping away the blood. Luckily the cuts themselves were small after the blood had been washed away. The bruises looked the most painful. He doubted Thor would be able to bend the fingers without pain for at least a day.

As it turned out, Asgardian healing was quite proficient, but it was especially heightened in battle. Bruce suspected an odd biological imperative. In peacetime as they were, Thor would still heal remarkably fast but not as fast as he did in previous fights.

Bruce then pulled out a roll of gauze and wrapped up it gently across Thor’s knuckles, around his palm and back around. On instinct Bruce leaned down and tied the final knot with his teeth.

When he realized what he’d done, his eyes shot up to look at Thor. But there was no judgement there, not even the uncomfortable heat of unsolicited desire. It was like Thor’s whole face had softened, his eye glinting and crinkled at the edges.

The fingertips that poked out of the top of the gauze skittered against Bruce’s chin. Bruce wouldn’t name fully what was happening with Thor’s expression, so Bruce put the motion down to a muscle spasm and raised his head, hoping his blush was hidden.

Thor took his hand back and stared at it. His eyes unfocused then hardened. He flexed his fingers in the bandage.

Bruce almost cried out but then Thor saw the fruit of his own labors, new blood dampening the gauze. He sucked in a shaky breath. Then a growl rose up in his throat, interrupted by another shaking gasp.

“Thor?” Bruce leaned closer. “Thor are you alright?”

“I’m useless.”

“What?!”

“Useless. What help can I be to the people who look up to me, who need me to be working for them when I can’t even use my hands to assist them in reconstructing their lives?” Thor was speaking to his lap and not meeting Bruce’s eyes. He seemed to be slipping away and his breath quickened with each gasped phrase. “All I am good for is my strength. I’m not worthy to be their king, not worthy to offer them my assistance. What good can I do for them? Nothing. I’m nothing.”

Bruce swallowed in horror. Thor had begun to rock himself back and forth on his heels a tiny bit, tears dripping from his eye onto the bandage, and his breath was only getting shorter.

Bruce was on his feet and frantically searching the room by the time the shakes began. He didn’t know how Thor’s anxiety attacks could be helped, he only knew how to help his own. Think, think, think, what did he know that could help? The image flashed in his head of Loki’s hand, pushing on Thor’s chest to steady him. Weight! That was it, he needed something heavy.

Bruce glanced around, hoping he could find something that he could carry, meanwhile his own panic rose as Thor shook harder, his breath now not more than strained gasps. Heavy, heavy, heavy, heavy, what on Earth did Bruce know that was really heavy?

His eyes alit on a set of hooks on the wall, arrayed with various steel weapons. They were tangled up, metal sliding against each other, leather straps crossed.

Bruce rushed over and groped through the mess, finally finding a free leather strap that he wrapped around his hand. He ran back to the couch, the weapon surprisingly light in his grasp.  

With his free hand he pushed hard on Thor’s chest, shoving him to lie back on the couch. Thor did so, alarm still painting his eye.

Bruce swung his hand around and settled whatever was attached to the leather strap firmly on the middle of Thor’s chest, praying it would be enough.

Bruce’s eyes widened. Both he and Thor had stopped breathing. Bruce from shock, and Thor from an emotion so powerful Bruce couldn’t place the word for it. For Bruce’s hand, the same hand that had created so many monsters in his lifetime, had hurt so many people, hadn’t touched someone voluntarily in decades, was wrapped tightly around the handle of Thor’s famous hammer.

Bruce’s breath stuttered, and he made to release the weapon. But Thor’s chest rose under his hand and an unbandaged hand closed over Bruce’s.

Bruce tore his gaze away from his own hand to Thor’s face. He was smiling. The tears had dried on Thor’s face and the shakes had smoothed out with every deep breath he took.

“Bruce-” “I-” They tried to speak at the same time.

Thor’s smile got wider and he inclined his head to let Bruce start.

“I’m sorry, I, I didn’t really realize I had grabbed…I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Bruce tried to pull his hand away again, but Thor held it tight, gripping the hammer’s handle. “Bruce. You have nothing to apologize for. In fact, I’m not even surprised this happened.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. “I thought there was a, um, rule about picking up the hammer-”

“-There is.”

“Well then we must have resurrected it wrong, I mean, it must be glitching or something.”

Thor’s brows crinkled. “It’s not a glitch and there is nothing wrong. Bruce, I would like to believe you know yourself well after all your years of self-reflection. Do you really doubt your worth now?”

Bruce flushed and turned his face away. “I don’t belong here, I’m not from Asgard, I’m just an ordinary human, a human who’s made so many mistakes, I, this isn’t right. I don’t deserve to be able to do this, to be here on Asgard, with you…”

Thor reached out with his injured hand and hooked the tips of his fingers in the collar of Bruce’s pajama button-up, tugging him forward until their faces were an inch apart. Bruce almost went cross eyed trying to avoid the intense gaze Thor was leveling him with. “Bruce Banner. The Man of Iron has named you the strongest avenger and indeed you are more than deserving of the title. Not for your green friend or your own musculature, but for your heart. You have been through more than most Asgardian’s go through in a thousand years. You shoulder the weight of your mistakes and replace wallowing in guilt with redemption. You are, first and foremost, a healer, a helper, you have the best of intentions. That is what makes you the strongest, what makes you worthy, and what has drawn me to you since the first moment we had a real conversation.”

Bruce’s breath caught, and he felt his eyes fill with tears. He could barely believe what he was hearing. He dropped his eyes to Thor’s chin.

“Hey Bruce.”

“Ye-ah?”

“I’d very much like to kiss you now. Would you mind?”

Bruce’s head shot up. Thor was smiling again, but this look seemed deeper for his confession. It had lifted the tension from him, rather than exacerbating it. A rush of happiness ballooned up in Bruce’s chest and he breathed his answer against Thor’s lips.

“Never.”

At first the kiss was little more than a touch, lips to lips, nerve endings to nerve endings. Their cheeks brushed, and stubble scratched as they experimented to how best to align their faces.

Bruce felt Thor laugh into his mouth and in the aftermath of that movement they finally slotted together perfectly. A soft bit of pressure here and there, a small tip of their mouths to move different edges against each other. Thor had the longest eyelashes, and they tickled the apples of Bruce’s cheeks as he leaned in. He had never felt something so affectionate and so gentle before.

When they finally drew back for breath, Thor shifted a little, gesturing to the awkward body positioning they had to do in order to avoid the hammer. He smiled with his whole face and he gestured at the hammer. “Could you move this to the floor for me?”

Bruce, hands trembling, still in awe of what was happening and had happened so very recently, reached for the handle. For a moment he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to lift it, but it came up easily, and he laid it to the side.

When he looked back, Thor was gazing at him, and seeing things that Bruce had never seen in himself before. Thor’s exquisitely ancient brain shone out of his eye, seeing in Bruce the blush of a supernova, the unsteady flickering of far way stars, and the swirl of matter itself as it created the glorious shapes they called home.

Bruce settled into the couch, in the small hollow of Thor’s waist, drawn unresistingly by the firmament Thor was seeing in him. “I can lift your hammer.” Even his voice sounded concerned and confused.

Thor’s smile lifted up even further at the corners. He settled a hand gently on Bruce’s back, stroking up and down. “I always knew. You are worthy of everything this universe has to offer you, and every part of it I can give you, I happily will. Name it, _Kærasti,_ and I will fetch it for you, if only it would make you happy.”

Bruce flushed right down to his toes. “I’m not-”

“-You are.” Thor’s hand left Bruce’s back to intertwine with one of Bruce’s that he'd been resting on Thor’s chest. “ _Kærasti,_ you are.”

Against himself, Bruce felt a smile creep up on his lips. “I never stood a chance against that galactic smile of yours, did I?”

A pink tint touched the tops of Thor’s cheeks. To cover his expression, he drew Bruce’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Bruce’s breath caught.

“We’ve put Mjolnir aside for the moment, but I’d love something else to steady me. Any ideas?”

Even Bruce’s sleep-deprived brain could keep up with the reasoning. “Would a human blanket do?”

“I’d swear to it.”

Bruce smiled. With some slight maneuvering, they got comfortable on the couch, a pillow under Thor’s head and another atop his chest for Bruce to rest his head on. They slept better that night than they had in decades, nay, in a thousand years.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: 
> 
> I identify with using the word Queer to describe myself in a positive way, I don’t intend to offend anyone. Just replace it mentally with LGBT if it bothers you. 
> 
> Old Norse: Kærasti, apparently means darling or loved one but is usually translated as boyfriend. 
> 
> A lot of this is based off of autistic headcanons for both Thor and Bruce created by myself and @autistic-thor. This fic is also dedicated to them. 
> 
> Incomplete playlist of the songs I listened to while writing this:  
> -My My My Troye Sivan  
> -Fall For You Secondhand Serenade   
> -Kiss Me Slowly Parachute  
> -Edge of Glory Lady Gaga  
> -For the First Time The Script  
> -Accidentally in Love  
> -Color Todrick Hall  
> And of course:  
> -Kiss The Boy by Keiynan Lonsdale


End file.
